Mr Grumpy Pants Vs CHAS58
by jaytoyz
Summary: I believe that the title says it all. What the title doesn't say is that this story is an attempt at humor that I was forced to right after being threatened with an angry, torch and pitchfork wielding mob...seriously...sorta...what? crap summary? Review?


**A/N: **This silly little thing is just something I told CHAS58 I'd do and it's just a prologue…the title for the finale can be found at the end of the story. This was a little break from my other scribbles…I'll get back to them really soon…promise. I don't own Chuck or the characters in the 'Chuckverse'…I'm not making money doing this, just having fun…all mistakes are my own because I swing beta-free. If you have the time and the inclination, your reviews would be greatly appreciated. Hey, Jim, I'm still having fun so thanks for the nudge. **JT**

P.S. This is an attempt, pitiful as it may be, at humor and hopefully CHAS58, who I'm sure is nothing like the character described here, will see it as such and refrain from reducing my life to a smoking crater…ha ha?

**Mr. Grumpy Pants Vs. CHAS58**

Colonel John Casey, USMC(ret.), was staring down at the small bundle in his arms, breathing a sigh of relief as his daughter finally drifted off to sleep. He'd been up since a little after 9, spending the last six hours alternating between his twins who had been having trouble sleeping. He wasn't sure but he believed that they might be coming down with a cold and he struggled against his desire to call Ellie Bartowski and ask if she or Devon would be willing to make a house call, just to put his mind at ease.

Just a Casey was about to get to his feet and return his daughter to her crib, he heard his wife call his name, her voice sounding oddly wet and pain filled. He took the time to make sure the twins were both sleeping before making his way back to check on his wife. Stepping into the room he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. Sitting down next to her, her listened to the sound of her breathing which seemed labored and short.

"Brook?" he asked while putting a hand on her shoulder, "What is it?"

"I feel like crap, John. I think I'm coming down with whatever the twins had."

"What can I do?" he asked, honestly unsure what to do. He told himself that gunshot or knife wounds were easy but when it came to his wife, he never knew what to do.

"I ache, John. Help me to the bathroom, please?"

"Of course" he said, the fact that she was asking for help telling him that she must have been really under the weather since the connecting bathroom was less than ten steps away. Gently taking her arm, he helped her to her feet and, after putting arm around her waist, he practically carried her. As soon as they made it to the door, she lurched away from him and fell to her knees in front of the toilet, her body suddenly wracked with great heaves as she vomited.

Kneeling next to her, her gently rubbed circles on her back while he held her hair back.

"Brook?" he asked after she raised her head and used the back of her hand to wipe her lips.

"Water?" she replied and watched as he got quickly to his feet and dashed from the room before she could point out the glass sitting on the counter near the sink. She wanted to smile when he returned moments later with a glass of ice water. Taking the offered glass, she took several swallows before lowering her hand and smiling. Not being able to resist, she pointed towards the glass not two feet away.

"Oh" Casey said with a small smile, "sorry."

"John, it's alright. Could you help me up?" she said after putting the nearly empty glass on the counter's edge.

"Of course" he replied. Once he'd helped her to her feet, he stood close while she brushed her teeth and then helped her back to their bed. Once he'd helped her back under the covers, he stood at the bedside, clearly unsure what to do next.

"John, I'm ok…well, not ok but I'm going to alright."

"What can I do?"

"Would you mind going to the drugstore and picking up some cold and flu medicine for me?" his wife asked, hoping that having a 'mission' might erase the mix of panic and concern that seemed to be his current setting.

"Of course" he answered before spinning and starting out of the room.

"John?" she called after him and tried to hide a smile when he turned quickly, almost bumping into the doorframe. "You might want to put on some clothes" she added, letting the smile loose when he looked down at the boxers he was wearing and realizing that she was right.

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Colonel John Casey, USMC(ret.) pulled into the parking lot of the drugstore, his eyes searching for an open space near the front door. When he noticed that the closest, open space was marked with a 'Handicapped Only' sign, he silently cursed to himself, wondering what the hell so many people were doing out so late at night. 'What the hell' he told himself, more concerned with getting back to his sick family than the possibility of a ticket, he pulled into the parking space and, after locking the car, rushed into the pharmacy.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he exited the store and headed towards his car, stopping a couple of steps from the drivers door when he caught sight of the car that looked to be parked directly behind his vehicle. Stepping to the rear of his beloved Crown Vic, he growled when he noticed that the vehicle's driver had left less than two inches between his bumper and the passenger side of the older mini-van. The tinted windows prevented him from looking in so Casey walked around to the far side and growled again when he found the driver's side seat empty.

'What the hell?' he asked himself while looking around to see if the driver of the offending vehicle might be standing near by. Taking note of the number of empty spaces, the same ones he'd ignored earlier, he cursed again, Walking back around the van, he paused and looked down at the tag, "CHAS58" he mumbled under his breath, wondering why the tag seemed to ring a bell. "It'll come to me" he told himself before shaking his head and walking back to his car. After opening the door, he stood, waiting for the van's driver to reappear, After five minutes, John Casey began pacing, the trip from his open door to the front of the mini-van and then back taking no time at all. On the third trip, he noticed the handicap placard hanging from the rear view mirror. "'Damn" he muttered, actually feeling bad that he'd taken the parking space that the driver of the van was actually entitled to. Returning to his car, he stood quietly for another five minutes, watching as the few cars near him all left. When the last of the cars that were parked near the front of the store pulled away, Casey decided to go into the store and see if he could offer his help to the handicapped individual whose parking space he'd taken.

Stepping into the store, he glanced towards the checkout but the only individual there didn't appear to be handicapped so he began his search. After looking down all of the aisles and finding no one, he made his way back to the cashier, planning to ask the young woman to use the stores intercom to call for the van's owner. He took note of the man standing at the counter, a gossip magazine open in his hands. He watched as the guy split his time between leafing through the magazine and attempting to look down the cashier's blouse whenever she bent over to reach for the items the customer had left sitting far away from her.

Casey felt his temper beginning to slip when the customer waited until all of his items had been rung up before offering a weak, 'I'm sorry' while pulling a pile of coupons from his breast pocket. After all of the coupons had been used, the man then offered another weak, 'I'm sorry' and held the gossip magazine towards the cashier, making her reach for it and making no effort to hide his latest attempt to look down the young woman's blouse.

The sound of Casey's knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists caused the man to look around and, after looking Casey up and down, he simply turned back around, dismissing the big man behind him.

Once the man finally headed towards the exit, Casey took a deep breath and then a second before stepping up to the counter. Just as he was about to ask the woman for her help, he happened to look up and thru the front windows, noticing the man who'd been in front of him just moments earlier, about to climb into the mini-van that had blocked him in. "Sorry" Casey muttered before walking quickly towards the front doors, his blood very close to boiling.

"You!" Colonel John Casey, USMC(ret.), almost yelled as the driver's side door of the mini-van started to close. Moving quickly, he closed the distance and yanked open the door, ready to snatch the man from the van. He had his hand moving when his intended victim held up a small badge and Casey froze as he tried to read the tiny print on the object. "What the hell is that?"

"I happen to work in law enforcement, pal. Maybe you should think before you decide to illegally park the next time you go to the drug store. That space is intended for the use of people who have this" the man said, pointing towards the handicap placard hanging from his rear view mirror. The nasally whining voice immediately reminding him of Lester Patel, only more grating.

"What the hell are you babbling about. Who do you work for?"

"The Burbank school system" the man answered as he slipped the tiny badge back into his shirt pocket, before reaching for his door handle.

"You're a school resource officer?" Casey asked.

"Oh no, not at all. I help to insure the continued integrity of the infrastructure surrounding the local schools and I work to keep students and visitors safe by controlling traffic, thereby preventing accidents that might injure civilians" he responded before slamming his door closed and starting the van.

Casey stared at the man before realization hit. "You're a school crossing guard?" he blurted out, knocking his knuckles against the window

"Actually, I'm a substitute Crossing officer" the man answered after opening his window about two inches.

"And you're handicap?" Casey asked with a growl.

"The card actually belongs to my mother but I was running an important errand for her" he squeaked out before putting the vehicle into gear and then pulling away.

Casey stood in stunned silence as he watched the mini-van pull away. With a growl, he dropped his hand to his hip and then swore when he realized he didn't have a weapon there. Moving quickly to the driver side door of his beloved Crown Vic, Casey grabbed the door handle and yanked, only to have his hand slip off. Grabbing the handle again, he pulled and then cursed when he realized the door was locked. Patting his pockets, Casey cursed again when he bent over the windshield and saw his keys hanging from the ignition.

"Shit!" Casey yelled, smacking his hand against the hood. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his phone only to remember he'd left the house without it. Just as he was about to go back into the store and ask the clerk if she had a phone he could use, planning to call Bartowski and having him activate the remote entry system, a sheriff's patrol car pulled into the parking lot, followed in rapid succession by three more, all of them with their lights flashing.

"Sir, please step away from the vehicle" a voice announced and Casey shook his head and took a step back, slowly raising his hands above his head. Wondering what else could go wrong, the big man suddenly remembered why the tag on the mini-van was so familiar.

"CHAS58, this is so on!" Casey mumbled as he watched a fifth patrol car roll into the now brightly lit parking lot, thanks to the helicopter that had joined the party, it's spotlight nearly blinding him when he happened to look upwards just as the chopper arrived. "Oh yeah, this is definitely on!"

**A/N:2 **Reviews are always loved and cherished. Coming soon, Casey exacts his revenge in the cautionary tale…**Mr. Grumpy Pants Makes CHAS58 His Whiney Little Bitch!**


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